


Ticklish Duo

by MissWarmNights



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: 1969, Don't Like Don't Read, Fangirls, Fans, Gen, Music, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWarmNights/pseuds/MissWarmNights
Summary: What if Paul and Artie were deathly ticklish and ran into a kinky fan with a tickle fetish? This is just a story from my imagination that was so much fun to write. But if you don't like this sort of thing, please don't read.





	Ticklish Duo

**Author's Note:**

> I have recently become a huge fan of Simon and Garfunkel. When my mind is in a dark place and I'm depressed they always help me feel better. Their beautiful voices are so calming and I really love watching videos of their concerts. I also have a slight tickle fetish so when I became interested in Simon and Garfunkel I almost immediately thought of writing a story about them. It's just something that happens with people/characters I really like! I also find them both very cute! Bless them.

One evening in 1969, young musicians Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel were relaxing in their luxurious hotel room still wearing the street clothes from their last performance. They were intertwined on the same bed dressed in turtleneck sweaters, jeans, and socks. Paul rested his back on the soft pillows, gently strumming the guitar on his lap. Art was stretched out, lying in the opposite direction and dangling his black-socked feet near Paul’s face. He was playfully trying to get on Paul’s nerves. It worked, and Paul became very annoyed – he did not appreciate this interference and pushed Art’s foot away multiple times only to have it come back and taunt him again. 

“Damn it, Art,” Paul complained. “Keep your big feet out of my way.”

Smirking, Art brought his foot up to Paul’s face and booped his nose with his toe.

Paul had enough. He got off the bed and carefully put away his precious guitar. Then he came over to Art and straddled his leg, trapping his ankle under his arm. 

Art became nervous. “What are you doing?”

Paul smiled impishly. He wiggled his fingers on the bottom of Art’s foot, making him shriek.

“Paul! No! Don’t tickle me!” Art begged, writhing on the bed as Paul continued his onslaught.

Paul scratched his sole more vigorously, tickling even faster and driving Art to hysterical laughter. Then Art kicked Paul right in the gut and forced him to release his foot.

“Oww,” Paul groaned, looking at his friend like, ‘why would you do that to me?’. 

Art took a moment to catch his breath. “I’m sorry, Paul. But I’m not responsible for your injuries when you do _that_.”

Paul chuckled a bit. “Yeah…I get it.”

“You know I hate being tickled.”

“Well, you screwed with me and you were asking for it.”

Then they heard a soft knock. Both men looked towards the bolted door. “Who is it?” 

“Maid,” called a feminine voice.

Paul went to answer the door, leaving Art to pull himself together. 

The maid was a slim, pretty woman about thirty years old wearing a black uniform and clean white apron. She had warm brown eyes and long caramel hair hanging over her shoulders. 

“Hi, I’m Antonia. Your maid,” she said with a polite smile.

“No autographs please,” Paul told her the second she entered the room.

The attractive maid just looked at him, arching a slender eyebrow. 

“Autographs?” she snorted, placing her equipment on the floor. “Why on earth would I want those?”

“Don’t you know who we are?” Art asked, straightening his shirt and fluffing his hair. 

“No…don’t _you_?” she retorted, arranging some sponges in her cleaning kit.

Paul crossed his arms, frowning. “Ummm…Simon and Garfunkel,” he said, assuming she would feel stupid now.

But Antonia just looked at the pair, unimpressed. “Nice names…So what?”

The two friends stared at each other in shock. They couldn’t believe this woman didn’t know who they were. They were a famous musical duo after all!

“Lady, we’re the duo Simon and Garfunkel.”

“We make beautiful music together,” Art said, placing his arm around Paul. “Surely you must have heard our songs.”

“Okay.” Antonia put her hands on her hips and looked at Art. “Which one are you?”

“I’m the tall one,” Art said, throwing a smirk at Paul.

She turned to Paul. “And you?”

“I’m the talented one.” Paul returned the smirk. Art rolled his eyes.

Antonia started to smile and then, burst out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” they asked, confused.

“Oh! Oh, I was just pulling your legs. I know damn well who you are! I’m a huge fan! I love your songs; your voices are just perfect together. The way you harmonize is so beautiful!”

_ Smack! _ Paul and Art facepalmed in unison. They had fallen for her act…hook, line and sinker.

“Don’t worry, boys, I won’t ask for your autographs,” she assured them, glancing down at their socked feet. “I’m not interested in signatures.”

“Which song is your favorite?” Art asked, curiously.

Antonia pursed her lips, thinking. “Hmm...a few of my favorites are _Sound of Silence, I Am a Rock, El Condor Pasa, _and_ Mrs. Robinson_. I adore those!”

“Of course you do…I wrote them all,” Paul said.

“Shut up,” Art said playfully.

Initially annoyed with Antonia, the duo was now genuinely interested in talking with her. The partners chilled out, sitting on the bed together while the maid went about her business.

“You boys are so cute together,” she quipped, taking two rags from her kit. “How long have you been friends?”

“Oh, we’ve known each other since we were little kids,” Paul replied with a smile, patting his friend’s knee.

“Awww,” Antonia smiled warmly. “You seem to get along great together!”

They nodded. Antonia grinned, pouring some type of clear liquid onto both of the rags. 

“Did you attend our concert tonight?” Art asked.

Antonia sighed sadly. “Oh…no, I couldn’t. I had to work so I missed it. I’m so disappointed…I _love_ you both. Say, fellas! Can I get behind you for a second? I, um, have to check something with the bed.”

“Sure, go on.”

If only Paul and Art had known that Antonia’s rags were soaked in chloroform. She ran behind them and clamped the rags over their faces, covering their noses and mouths. Caught off-guard, they struggled for a moment but quickly succumbed to the knock-out effect of the chloroform. The partners fainted at almost the same time.

Antonia gazed at the unconscious forms sprawled across the bedspread.

“Sorry, fellas.” 

Then she unpacked her special equipment and got to work.

***

Art was the first to wake up. He opened his eyes sleepily and found himself staring into Paul’s sleeping face. He groaned weakly and tried to move…but couldn’t. He was completely immobilized. The partners were in a terrible predicament.

“Paul…Paul!”

Paul woke up with a start. He immediately tried to sit up, but he could barely move an inch. The men were strapped to the bed, their hands tied over their heads with padded straps secured to the backboard. Their feet were strapped down, securing them to the bed and leaving them vulnerable.

“Hey, what is this?!” Paul shouted, struggling in his bonds.

They suddenly noticed Antonia standing at the foot of the bed. She smiled meekly and waved.

“You!” Paul barked. “What’s going on? Why did you tie us up?”

“I’m a terrific fan,” she insisted. “This…is just my way of showing it.”

Paul cursed, struggling with all his might. “Let us go! NOW!”

“Keep your shirt on, geez.” 

Antonia walked over and sat beside Paul’s restrained feet. She stared at his feet for a minute, and then she looked at Art’s.

“Why…why is she looking at our feet?” Art whispered to his partner.

“I don’t know,” Paul said, starting to get nervous. 

“Just relax,” she told them. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to have fun! Now, let’s just take these off…”

With that, she started tugging at Paul’s socks.

“H-hey! Cut it out!” Paul protested.

Antonia removed Paul’s socks with ease, and then she removed Art’s socks. The pair blushed as their bare feet were exposed to the grinning female.

“What lovely feet,” she snickered.

“Put our socks back on!” Paul yelled at her.

“What are you going to do to us?” Art asked, nervously.

Antonia did not answer. She stared at Paul’s bare feet, studying them for a moment. Then she experimentally drew one finger along the bottom of his foot. This made Paul giggle and squirm!

“Stop it! That tickles!” he squealed.

Antonia was delighted by this reaction. “Oh, this is going to be FUN!”

She took some string and tied Paul’s big toes together.

Paul broke into a panicky smile and started giggling again – just from having his toes touched. And she wasn’t even trying to tickle him! Paul’s feet were _very_ ticklish. He giggled and squirmed the whole time she was tying back his toes.

She took more string and did the same thing with Art’s big toes, tying them back to limit foot movement. He was giggly too.

Antonia reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a long, purple feather with a black tip.

The men’s eyes filled with terror.

“Oh dear,” Art whimpered. “Not that!”

Antonia giggled like the kinky fangirl she was. She waved the big feather back and forth, teasingly. “Who wants to go first? Paul, how about you?”

She began running the feather up and down Paul’s sole, making him burst into uncontrollable laughter. He bucked and thrashed helplessly in his restraints. He was laughing so hard that he couldn’t even beg for her to stop.

“Oh!” Antonia exclaimed in joy. “My goodness, Paul, your feet are so ticklish! Yes, they are. Coochie coochie coo!”

Art cringed, averting his eyes from the horrible scene next to him. All he could do was lay helpless and await his turn to be tickled.

Antonia kept on tickling Paul’s feet, stroking the feather on his arches and dragging it between his toes. He was hysterical with laughter. His face turned red and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

The devious maid stopped for a moment – only to switch tactics. She turned over the feather and started using the quill against her captive’s sensitive feet. 

Paul threw his head back, screaming with laughter as Antonia scribbled the quill on his bare soles. He arched his back and thrashed violently on the bed, tears rolling down his face.

Antonia finally stopped, not wishing Paul to hurt himself or pass out. 

“It’s okay…calm down, Paulie. I’m giving you a break.”

Paul gasped for air, still giggling and shaking from the torture. “Please…please, no more tickling. I-I can’t stand it.”

“Shhh,” Antonia said soothingly, reaching out to gently rub his leg. He cringed at the touch of her hand. How dare she torture him and then try to console him! He also felt completely humiliated having been overpowered and tickle tortured by some frail woman.

“Oh, Artie,” Antonia sang, moving over to Art’s feet now. His feet were bigger than Paul’s.

Art was petrified. He couldn’t stand to be tickled while mobile and socks on, let alone immobile and barefoot!

“No, no, don’t tickle! Please, I don’t think I could handle it. Keep tickling Paul! He’s more ticklish anyway.”

Paul shot him a hateful look. “Thanks…Benedict Arthur!”

“Alright, settle down, fellas,” Antonia chuckled, making herself comfortable. “Art, it’s your turn.”

Then she brought the purple feather to Art’s feet and stroked it up and down his naked soles.

“NO! Wait, stop!” Art cried before plunging into hysterical laughter. Like Paul, he had no resistance to tickling and it was pure torture for him.

“That’s it,” the maid giggled. “Laugh it up, Artie. Tickle tickle tickle!”

Art bucked wildly on the bed, throwing his head back as he howled with laughter.

Paul closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow, believing his torture was over for a while. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Five fingers scratched the sole of his foot, making Paul squeal and burst out laughing again.

Antonia was now tickling both men at the same time. 

She continued rubbing the feather on Art’s soles and dragged it between his toes, making him convulse with shrieking laughter. She then used the quill to slowly trace the lines on his soles, causing tears to fall from his eyes.

She tickled Paul’s feet with her other hand, scratching all over his soles and undersides of his toes. 

The poor fellows were in pure hell, screaming in the most hysterical laughter as their tears became rivers flowing down their bright red faces. They thrashed against their bonds with such force that together they nearly tore off the backboard (where their wrist restraints were located). 

“Oh, my goodness,” Antonia said happily. “You both are SO ticklish, and SO much fun to tickle! I could do this forever!”

However, after a few minutes, she did stop because they desperately needed a break.

Panting, Paul shook his head frantically. “N-no, no more…We’ll give you anything you want! Just…don’t tickle us anymore.”

Antonia sighed. “Paulie, I don’t really _want_ anything else but to tickle you.”

“But…_why?”_ Art demanded, trying to catch his breath.

Antonia shrugged. “Well, you boys are such cuties. And, well, tickling is such terrific fun!”

“Let us go,” Art whimpered. “We’re not having fun.”

“I will, but first can I tickle you some more?”

“NO!” Paul yelled, practically sobbing.

They screamed for help, but nobody came to their rescue. Their feet belonged to the maid now, and she could tickle them all she wanted. Once again, the hotel room filled with the laughter of the ticklish duo. The torture went on and on, until the musicians finally blacked out.

***

Paul and Art tumbled out of bed together and hit the floor with a thud. The impact jolted them awake. They found themselves hugging as if comforting each other. Despite being slightly tangled in the sheets from thrashing, the men were completely free of their restraints. 

The giggling wrecks got up, climbing back onto the bed to catch their breaths. They were covered in sweat and had tears in their eyes. They were exhausted and worn out. 

“Where is she?” Art asked, looking around the room.

There was no sign of Antonia. 

Paul’s eyes darted around the room, checking for the presence of the devious maid. “She’s gone,” he concluded.

The restraints were gone as well. They even had their socks back on. It was like nothing had ever happened.

“Paul, do you think it could have been a dream?”

Paul was skeptical. “I don’t know, Artie. Is it possible to have the same dream at the same time?”

“I don’t know, possibly,” Art said, protectively holding his feet. “I’m just glad the nightmare is over.”

“Me too,” Paul said, gently rubbing his poor feet.

The men shuddered. They hoped never to have a nightmare like that again. 

Paul went to check the door and found it still securely locked – as if nobody else had entered the room that night.

“Maybe it _was_ only a dream,” Paul admitted. 

With a shrug, he turned around but then noticed something on the floor, right at the foot of the bed.

It was a long, purple feather with a black tip.

Paul picked up the feather and held it up. They both looked at it, and then at each other, eyes wide and mouths agape. A shiver ran down their spines.

The End


End file.
